


Reunion

by compos_dementis



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, Post-Time Skip, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compos_dementis/pseuds/compos_dementis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is finally reunited with Mello after four tragic years apart. Neither of them are the children they used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my Fanfiction.net account, but I hated the original story and so rewrote it to be more accurate, factually, to the story.
> 
> Warnings for mentions of prostitution, and in a different context, sexual favors exchanged between a teenager and adult.

Four years.

Roger had made the announcement the day after Mello’s abrupt departure from Wammy’s. “In light of Mello’s absence, a decision has been made.”

Matt hadn’t known what to think at the time; all those years together flushed so easily down the toilet, not even a proper goodbye. Matt was fifteen and confused, struggling with the idea that Mello -- his best and only friend -- had vanished off the face of the planet, not a trace left behind. Mello had always been there, even when Matt didn’t want him to be, always leaning over him, loose dark clothes hanging from a wiry frame.

His own decision to leave had been hasty, impulsive, and probably even stupid. With just the shirt on his back and a backpack full of what little belongings he needed, Matt left the orphanage in search of that little boy in the sweatpants, for a tiny build and wide eyes.

But of course, life is disappointing. After four long years spent in truck stops, park benches, train stations, and, occasionally, stranger’s beds (for food and shelter, you had to do what you had to do, sometimes), Matt found him. It just wasn’t the little boy Matt remembered.

Real leather pressed in snug to the lithe lines of Mello’s body, his blonde hair longer and untamed; even the once-familiar eyes were wild with obsession and power.

His Mello had become a stranger, clearly. Matt couldn’t stand to acknowledge the change.

“Matt.” Mello’s voice was cold and it held the tone of forced familiarity; those icy blues raked Matt’s body with a touch of boredom. “You look like hell.” But then, more coldly, “Drop your things anywhere. My men will pick them up.”

Matt tried to find something he recognized -- a motion, or a tone of voice. He shrugged off his backpack, gently placing it on the floor so as not to damage the equipment inside. Tracing the room with cautious eyes, he counted the bulky men on the sofas.

Three, four, five... all very typically American, muscles grotesquely bulging, faces ugly with boredom and slight hunger as they eyed the newcomer. Matt didn’t give them the satisfaction of humiliation, instead just scanning them in return from behind his orange lenses.

“Who’s this clown?” one laughed. “Hey Mello, I thought you said we weren’t taking in anyone else. Kid hasn’t even been initiated.”

He’d been expecting this. Ridicule and cruelty, probably on how he dressed. He tried to grit his teeth and let it slide, hands shoving into his pockets.

Mello turned to look at the speaker with a roll of his eyes, then looked back at Matt, who awaited his response. “He’s not new,” Mello replied, standing to stride over to him, boots falling heavily with each step. One hand clasped to Matt’s shoulder in a display of friendship, but Matt flinched at the action. “This is Matt. He---” Mello paused, thinking. “He does computer work. He’s... a friend.”

Matt’s stomach turned at the tone, and he had to bite his own tongue to keep from making any remarks.

“So he’s, what, some kinda hacker? Computer geek?” It was a different man this time, just as muscled, but with a sickly-skinny prostitute in his lap. Matt wondered how much the man had paid for her. How old she was, with her stringy hair, the dark bags under her stoned eyes. “Some sorta James Bond, Matrix shit?”

Not expecting anything better, Matt replied, “A little of all of that, yeah.” He could do surveillance, hidden microphones, tracking devices -- or break into enemy networks, hack into security footage, et cetera, et cetera. “If it runs on electricity, I can make it work for me.”

The man blinked at him slowly; Matt could see him struggle to decipher his still unfortunately thick East End accent. Meanwhile, the prostitute’s dainty hands were running idly up and down the man’s chest despite the company, and Matt turned his gaze away.

“So like--- gadgets and stuff?”

Matt sighed. There was hardly any point in trying to explain it. “Yes,” he said. “Gadgets and stuff.”

“Anyway,” Mello cut in, adjusting his vest slightly by tugging it down; even in doing so, it didn’t entirely cover his midriff. He sauntered his way back to the sofa. “Make yourself at home, Matt. Have a beer. Or a girl. Whatever you like.”

Ah, so the girls were complimentary. If possible, that just disgusted him more.

“Actually--” Matt began, and Mello looked up at him, all awareness and attentive respect. More respect than Matt had ever received from him in the past, anyway. “I was hoping I could talk to you. Alone.”

That earned him some looks from the Americans. Silent accusations, confusion in their otherwise dull eyes.

Fuck you, Matt thought, bottled up rage storming inside of him. Fuck you, and fuck your free girls. After four years of searching, I’d like to see you do better.

Mello tilted his head, giving a look of sheer intensity that had Matt averting his eyes. “Alone, Matt?” he asked, half mocking. Matt felt his face go hot and he silently cursed Mello for being able to affect him this way.

“If you don’t mind.”

Mello gave a tiny smile, more a smirk than anything genuine. How could so much change in just a few years?

“Certainly. Anything for a friend.”

Matt had to swallow back the retort ready on his tongue.

Mello’s bedroom was less impressive than the rest of the building. Matt glanced over the small, sparsely furnished space, the skinny bed and small bedside table, the narrow window half covered with a moth-eaten drape. How typical; put up a front with the exterior, only to have the impression fade as you delve deeper inside.

“Well?” Mello sat on the bed, splaying his legs open wider than Matt was entirely comfortable with. “What do you want to say, Matt? Or maybe I should ask what you want me to tell you.”

Where should he start? So many questions raced through his mind, all crying to be answered at once. He thought about it, taking a seat in a rickety chair directly across from the bed.

“Where have you been?”

Mello leaned back a little, opening the drawer of the table and extracting a chocolate bar. That was familiar, at least, the sight of slender fingers ripping the foil off, perfect teeth snapping off dark chocolate squares.

“Here,” Mello finally replied, gesturing around him vaguely. “Making connections. Building trust. Gathering men to protect me as I work to bring Kira to justice.”

“To beat Near, you mean.”

Mello looked away, mouth set. “I’m meeting him at the finish line.” He turned back, the shadows on his face lifting. “Anything else?”

Matt fished in his vest pocket for a moment, removing a pack of cigarettes. He slid one between his lips, lit it with a stolen lighter, and took a long, satisfying drag. When he exhaled, he watched the wispy gray smoke curl up between them like a barrier.

“Why’d you call me?”

Mello rolled his eyes. “You already know the answer to that one. I need someone who’s able to think abstractly. Someone good with computers. Not to mention, I know you’ve been looking for me... I just kept a step ahead of you until you cooled down, then tracked your number. It was horribly simple, Matt.” He snapped off another piece of chocolate, said, “You haven’t changed much since Wammy’s.”

“You have.”

“Not as much as you think.” He eyed Matt again. “My turn. What the hell are you wearing?”

Matt glanced down at his own wardrobe, then at Mello’s. “You don’t have much room to talk, you know.”

Mello shrugged, crookedly snapping off yet another square with his teeth. he kept it there, tonguing it idly; Matt had trouble pulling his eyes away.

“I couldn’t stay innocent forever,” Mello said, eyes giving that unfamiliarly cold look that caused Matt to instinctively shrink back. “I need to call attention to myself. I need to be intimidating -- or I’ll never accomplish even those first few steps toward capturing Kira. Beating Near, as you put it.”

Matt kept his eyes on the floor, gaze wandering to the side table, to the tattered drapes, to the naked bed. As Mello said, they weren’t children anymore. A mafia man, a master hacker -- no longer the close friends they’d been at the orphanage, no matter how much Matt tried to lie to himself.

“If you thought I was still the Mello you knew four years ago...” Mello scoffed, glancing out that dirty window. “You’re even more stupid than I remember.”

Matt felt his face heat and looked to the floor so that his hair covered most of the shame. He was out of practice; four years ago, he could take Mello’s barbs with a nonchalant laugh. Now every word out of that mouth made Matt feel foolish.

“You never answered my question,” Mello reminded him, leaning forward on the bed. “Why do you dress like that? You look ridiculous.”

“You asked what I was wearing, not why.” Matt assumed this was about the vest. And the gloves. His locked locked with Mello’s, who gave a look of annoyance at having his mistake corrected. Matt shrugged. “I dress this way because I like it,” he finally answered, and Mello’s eyebrows raised curiously.

“I moved here to look for you,” Matt said after a moment. “You know that already. I was trying to follow your tracks -- a changed name here, a falsified train ticket there... But you were always a step ahead.”

Matt took another drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly through his nose.

“So I stayed. I knew if you needed me, you’d find me. I didn’t even need to make myself stand out.”

Mello looked at him coldly, then gave a slow nod. “See? Told you. I haven’t changed that much after all.” He pushed himself to standing, leaving his chocolate bar on the table, then reached forward to pluck the cigarette from Matt’s lips.

“Those things’ll kill you,” he said, dropping it to the floor and grinding it with the toe of his boot. Then he simply exited the room, leaving Matt alone.


End file.
